


I Walk On

by secretfeanorian



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian





	I Walk On

I sat there in the darkness with tears in my eyes. Nothing made sense anymore. Once, I had a home; a family. But that’s all gone now. I wish I could say I’m not sure why or how, but that would be a lie. I know fully well why I lost everything and I know I deserve every second of this misery. There’s nothing I can do to change what happened, though Eru knows I would if I could. But that doesn’t matter much because there isn’t something I can do. There’s nothing and there’s never been anything. I’m just going to be waiting for the rest of my life.

Waiting…I don’t even what for. I can’t possibly be waiting for someone to come and take me home. I’m banned from my home; I can’t go back. Nor would anyone come for me. They are all dead and the few that are not surely think I am so. And those that do not think, wish. I do not resent those that hate me; that wish me dead. They have a right to do so and good reasons. With what I have done in my days, it would be hard for someone not to hate me. Hard for someone to find a reason to care more then to wish I was dead. That sounds degrading, and it should be.

Degradation is the only thing I have allowed myself in these long, lonely, and painful years. The luxury of giving it to myself. For the human race was very good at dealing such a thing out. It isn’t so much any more, but the degradation is there and it always will be. It is too dark a thing to ever leave fully. Like the horrors I know are there; hiding in the shadows and waiting to return when we least expect it. The newer ones do not bother me so much any more; it is the reborn ones - the ones that humans keep bringing back - that I cannot stand. I see those horrors, and I cannot stop shaking. They come for me every so often; with their foul stench that reeks of the spilled blood of innocent eldar; simply trying to protect that which they held dearer then the jewels we so obsessively followed. But the tears I cry now are of no use; the deed has been done, the blood spilled, and the curse laid.

And there is no removing it. Cry as I might; I am trapped here. I am always trapped here. And there is no undoing that, pray as I might. I am the last of the damned and as long as I endure, so does the curse. The memory of it is long gone now, but there is no hope for the destruction of the curse that keeps me here. It will stay as long as I do, and I cannot leave. I have given up trying to leave for a long time now. It is fruitless and any attempt will be unsuccessful. I know that by now. Centuries of trying have taught me that beyond any possibility of unlearning it. So I remain here, homeless, family less, and hopeless. My songs are all I have left now and those are not much. Sometimes, I think I’d be better off without them. All they bring are bad memories and if the memories are good, they become bad because I have lost them and it brings me pain to think about them once more. I wander the sea, always singing and always watching. And though there is plenty for one to lay eyes on; none of it is what I am looking for.

Over all the beaches of the world, not one has what I am looking for. I have found myself by the Atlantic once more, and I watch the sea. I still don’t know what I am searching for, but I look anyways; thinking that maybe, I’ll know it when I see it. But that has not worked so far for I am still searching for the end of the road. I am beginning to think I might never find it; that my road just goes on forever and never ends. But as likely as that seems, I keep searching; hoping desperately that against the odds, I might find whatever it is I am seeking for. People used to ask me from time to time - they never do anymore though - what it was I was calling for when I sang by the waves. I could never answer them, for I didn’t know and I still don’t.

If someone were to ask me today, I would have no more answer for them then I had for the ancient people who did ask. I have lingered here for too long already and I will not find what I seek today. Besides, a powerful storm has already begun to brew and I do not wish to be caught in the middle of it. There’s a cry in the storm, and I turn. There’s someone out there; watching me. Eyes on fire and a body of a swan; I know what they are doing to me. It’s happened before, but I can never fight it. The fire spreads and consumes the swan. I know what they are haunting me with today, but that doesn’t mean it is any easier to fight it.

I cannot find the will to turn away, and so I watch the swan boats burn for the millionth time. I watch the timbers sink and vanish; helpless as always to stop it. And then, with sleet pouring down on me like razors, the angry Atlantic crashing at my feet; I walk on.


End file.
